


Some Things Are Better Left Broken

by Klei



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: (inasmuch as both parties are willing but neither one believes they have the consent of the other), Knotting, M/M, Morning After Pill Usage, Omegaverse, Secret Santa, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 06:49:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13653687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klei/pseuds/Klei
Summary: In most omegaverse families, the Westermarck effect was enough to prevent incestuous copulation during heats and ruts.  Fortunately for Morty, an omega with a powerful hankering for his own grandfather's knot, Rick had entered his life too late for that to apply.





	Some Things Are Better Left Broken

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fanfiction I wrote for the Rick and Morty Secret Santa on Tumblr, which I not only posted a half a month late, but also forgot to put up on Archive until now. The prompt was for omegaverse. For various reasons, much of it had to be rewritten from scratch in a hurry, so there were a bunch of weirdly-worded sentences and grammatical errors. I tried to fix them prior to posting this, but there may still be some mistakes, which you can feel free to point out. I welcome constructive criticism!

For most Mortys, life consisted of only four major concerns, some more mundane than others.

Concern number one was getting through school. On its own, that would be pretty typical for a sixteen-year-old boy, but his distinct lack of book-smarts combined with his near-constant absence from class made academics a constant struggle. He had long since grown numb to the feeling of staring down at a test sheet and barely understanding what was being asked, let alone how to answer the question.

Speaking of school, concern number two was, of course, _Jessica._ Never having been particularly gregarious, Morty had spent most of his life content to languish in social obscurity. It wasn't until he'd first laid eyes on his red-haired goddess that he'd begun to wish he'd spent more time building up his nonexistent charisma. By the time he finally caught up to his peers in social prowess, she would be married to someone else, probably with kids.

Third on the list if worries was his dysfunctional family. Morty's parents argued so much that he wasn't even entirely sure what a proper relationship was supposed to look like beyond what he watched on television. His father was the very personification of insecurity, a fact his mother depended on to sate her own twisted ego. His sister had surprisingly few issues despite putting up with the same shit Morty did, but she was also an angsty teenager, and counting on her to be a stable, supportive figure was like entrusting a balloon to a porcupine.

Last, and _definitely_ not least, was his _grandfather,_ who caused Morty so much stress and grief that he counted as a concern wholly separate from the 'family issues' umbrella. In fact, Morty could come up with a whole sub-list of worries that Rick alone was responsible for, perhaps most notably the omnipresent terror that every day he spent alive might be his last.

And yet, for as horrible as that list was, it was still only four items long. Some of them were even finite in duration! One day, he would no longer have to worry about school, and after he moved out, the only times he would ever have to deal with his family's bickering would be on holidays. He was even beginning to grow out of his crush on Jessica; as it turned out, physical attraction alone wasn't enough to build a successful relationship off of. Was it disappointing to lose out on one of the hottest alphas in school? Yes, definitely. And yet, at the same time, it was kind of a relief to stop being so concerned with impressing her at school.

All that was left was the stress of adventuring with Rick. Or, at least, that was all that _would_ have been left for most Mortys.

In the dark of night, safe behind his locked bedroom door, Morty pressed his nose to the spare labcoat he'd stolen from the garage and inhaled with the enthusiasm of a drug addict snorting cocaine. On most nights, he might have run the risk of Rick bursting in through a portal and witnessing this unquestionably disturbing scene. Fortunately, his grandfather was currently sleeping off a drug-induced headache, leaving Morty free to slip his hand down the front of his pajama pants and touch himself to the scent of sweat and booze.

This moment of shame was an excellent segue-way to concern number five: An inexplicable, incestuous lust for his seventy-year-old grandfather. Why? Because the universe realized that Morty was getting used to it kicking him in the balls and figured it could spice things up by stomping on them for a change.

With cleats.

* * *

 

The funny thing about growing up in gimmick universe was that you didn't realize what an anomaly you were until you left it. To the Morty of the Eric Stoltz Mask universe, human faces just looked like that. To the Morty of the neko universe, cat ears were just ears.

To the Morty of the omegaverse, heats and ruts were just standard fare.

"So, _sex,"_ said Morty's health teacher, a portly woman who wore far too much makeup. "Given that this is, in fact, a high school, I'm sure that for many of you, this class is coming just too little too late. For others, particularly those whose parents refused to sign the permission slip allowing them to come to this class, the odds of it being properly taught at all beyond secondhand gossip and internet porn is particularly slim. Nonetheless, seeing as we're all trapped in this room for the next hour or so with nothing better to do, I suppose I may as well relay this information to all two of you who might still benefit from it. Now, who here can tell me the difference between an alpha, a beta, and an omega?"

No hands were raised.

"For your sakes, I'm going to hope the lack of response is the result of teenage apathy, and _not_ because you're all actually that painfully ignorant," said the teacher flatly. "Fine, I'll just call on people randomly. Morty!"

Morty, who was halfway between awake and asleep, suddenly snapped to attention. For once, his sleep deprivation couldn't be blamed entirely on Rick; they'd actually managed to get back by midnight, meaning that if Morty had just gone to sleep as soon as they returned, he might have gotten at least six hours. Instead, however, he'd spent thirty minutes waiting for Rick to fall asleep so he could steal his labcoat, thirty minutes sniffing and snuggling it to set the mood, two hours furiously masturbating, and thirty more minutes painstakingly washing the mess he'd left on the fabric before it stained.

"Uh, what-what was the question, again?" said Morty, pinching himself in the side to stay awake.

A snicker rolled across the classroom, but it hardly bothered Morty. Rick's constant teasing had effectively vaccinated him against lesser insults.

"The difference between alphas, betas, and omegas, Morty," said the teacher, eyes narrow with annoyance.

"Right," said Morty, struggling to snap out of his sleepy daze. "Uh, only alphas and omegas can have babies from gay couples?"

The classroom erupted into a fit of giggles, and the teacher exhaled. "Well, you're not _wrong,_ but the answer I was looking for was 'ruts and heats.' " The mere mention of such no-no words only heightened the immature laughter of Morty's peers. "Hush up and pay attention! Most of you will have your first rut or heat in the next year or so, assuming you haven't already. This is important information!"

As the teacher droned on about biology and the organs for all six different possible chromosonal makeups (XXAA, XYAA, XXOO, XYOO, XXAO, and XYAO) and all that internal biological stuff that no one really cared about, Morty found himself zoning out to consider her earlier words. As an omega, he was rapidly approaching the point in his life where his first heat could come at basically any moment. Despite this, he and Rick were still out on almost daily adventures, battling their way through the cosmos as though he weren't a ticking time bomb of youthful hormones. Rick's response when questioned about this hadn't been particularly reassuring:

_"You'll feel it coming on before- at least a couple days in advance, Morty."_

Morty raised his hand.

"Is it true that you-you know it's coming?" he asked. "You know, before it happens?"

"It might be hard to recognize the signs the first time, but yes, most alphas and omegas can predict their cycle at least a day in advance," said the teacher. "Obviously, this period is a good time to start cancelling plans and keeping away from anyone you'd rather not wake up next to. Remember, an alpha's rut can trigger an omega to get into a heat and vice versa, even if you've already had a cycle in the past three months."

Someone else's hand shot up into the hair.

"I read a story on the news once about an alpha whose rut got triggered by his own mom," said a student. The class collectively squirmed with disgust, and several boys either mock-barfed or said some variant of, 'It must have been (insert this person I don't like).' "But I thought family wasn't affected by that stuff."

Morty silently thanked his lucky stars that somebody else had popped that question. For as little as most high school bullying bothered him anymore, it was well known that he spent a _lot_ of time with his grandfather, and he did _not_ want to give the rumor mill _that_ kind of fodder. Not because his piss-poor social life could get any worse, but because it was actually maybe-kinda-sorta true, at least in a one-sided way, and he didn't need to be constantly reminded of what he would never have.

"Generally, family won't be affected," said the teacher. Morty deflated. That was it, then. Even if he wanted it, it was biologically impossible for him to trigger his own grandfather's rut. "However, contrary to popular belief, this isn't out of some instinctive recognition of shared genes."

Morty froze, his eyes locked onto the teacher to heed her words with a level of rapt attention he usually reserved exclusively for porn.

"How many of you have heard of the Westermarck effect?" asked the teacher. Naturally, not one hand went up. "Essentially, you're extremely unlikely to show any interest in people you were raised by or around. Most cases like the one you mention involve family members that have been absent through most of a person's formative years."

In all the history of all the world, Morty wasn't sure anyone had ever been as happy as he was to have such an irresponsible deadbeat for a grandfather.

"Anyway, on a somewhat related note, since the effects of ruts and heats can be so potent, the issue of consent can become a bit muddled during a cycle," said the teacher, but Morty had heard all he cared enough to learn. While she droned on about the complexities of the law surrounding rape, he was already off in another world, eager to utilize this information. "Obviously, it's horrendously unethical – not to mention very much illegal – to intentionally attempt to trigger another person's heat or rut without their consent, so-"

A familiar flash of green light bathed the classroom as a portal popped open on the wall. Morty sighed as his grandfather stepped through to grab him by the wrist and yank him out of his chair.

"Morty, we need to- Is this sex ed?" said Rick, looking around with a raised unibrow. "In high school? You _do_ know that half of these kids have probably already had sex, right?"

Like most of Morty's teachers, this one was hardly even fazed by Rick's interruptions anymore. Most students had become so accustomed to his regular disruptions, in fact, that the sudden appearance of a glowing green portal wasn't even worth peeling their eyes away from their cellphones for.

"Mister Sanchez, your portal is blocking the board."

"What, you- do you seriously need a diagram for this shit?" said Rick. "Here, I'll teach it for you: If a dick is involved, place penis in hole. Otherwise, just rub whatever you have together like birds with their cloaca. Class dismissed."

Several students reflexively stood up in response to those words, prompting the teacher to frantically block the door. "No, class is _not_ dismissed! Get back to your seats!"

As the teacher struggled to regain control of her class, Rick beckoned for Morty to follow. "Come on, Morty."

"I-I-I dunno, Rick, I feel like I'm learning a lot, here," said Morty, mostly as a stalling tactic while he struggled to inconspicuously tuck his raging hard-on into a position that wouldn't be immediately obvious the moment he stood up to leave.

As usual, Rick saw right through him. "Morty, we don't have time for you to hide your public boner. Remember the planet we saved last week by renting the invaders' king some hookers?"

"The one with the slime princess?" said Morty.

"Yeah, well, it turns out that the account attached to the check I gave them was a fake, and if we don't go in and swap it for a real one before it bounces, it could spark a war that would destroy this entire stretch of the Milky Way, Earth included," said Rick, casually taking a pull from his flask as though the disaster he'd just described was but a minor inconvenience.

Morty, on the other hand, all but jumped out of his seat. "Are you serious?"

"Morty, I know I've lied to you about a lot of things, but mistakenly giving a giant-ass Dorbetian a slip from the wrong checkbook isn't one of them," said Rick, dragging Morty along through the portal by the wrist. "Now come _on,_ let's _go!"_

* * *

 

Rick had never really been one to dwell on the thoughts and feelings of others.

"Hurry up and put-put it on, Morty!"

"Aww, geez, Rick, I-I-I really don't want to wear this," said Morty, grimacing at the thong that had just been unceremoniously dumped into his hands.

"Well, if you can think of a better way to infiltrate a strip club, I'd _love_ to hear it, Morty."

"Why do we have to infiltrate it at all?" said Morty. "Can't we just apologize and explain the situation instead of breaking in to swap the checks?"

"And get arrested for check fraud? Pass," said Rick, shoving Morty into the bathroom stall.

It wasn't that Rick took any particular joy out of the suffering of others, per say. He didn't go out of his way to be pointlessly cruel, but nor would he hesitate to engage in the sort of crimes that even a villain from a Saturday morning cartoon might balk at, assuming he had something to gain from doing so. In winning a conflict with his enemies, the satisfaction came not from the suffering of the opposition, but instead from the ego-trip of coming out on top. Sometimes that sense of victory came from something as major as toppling a government. Other times, it was as simple as convincing a person to do something they really didn't want to.

"I-I-I look ridiculous," muttered Morty, still hidden behind the locked door.

"Morty, this isn't exactly a high-class establishment you're sneaking into, here," said Rick. "Half of the strippers are coked so far out of their minds that they can barely support themselves against the pole, let alone dance on it. Trust me, you aren't gonna stand out."

Many saw him as evil, perhaps understandably so. Rick saw it differently, though; he preferred to think of himself as a purely neutral entity, in that he was on no side but his own. If getting what he wanted meant doing something good, he would be as saintly as the situation called for. If it meant getting his hands a little dirty, he would do whatever he had to, provided he could get Morty on board.

Ah, yes; _Morty,_ his woefully inept grandson. He had spent many a moment genuinely wondering how such a meek, incompetent underachiever could possibly be of his own flesh and blood. It was only ever for a moment, though, as every time he thought to doubt the kid's lineage, he would inevitably do or say something to put such questions to rest. Buried deep beneath the stupidity and insecurities he'd inherited from Jerry was a surprisingly savvy young man. He was an idiot, yes, but at least he was conscious of this shortcoming, a demonstration of self-awareness far beyond anything Rick had ever seen out of the accidental sperm donor that Beth called a husband.

"If it's so easy, why can't you do it?" demanded Morty.

"Believe me, I would if I could. It- I could get in and out of there faster than your scrawny ass can walk through the front door," said Rick. "Unfortunately, the bouncer knows me."

"He _knows_ you," repeated Morty, sounding completely unsurprised by this revelation. "Knows you _how?"_

"Long story short, I might have slept with his wife," said Rick. "And his brother. And his mom. At the same time. On his bed."

Rick didn't have to see Morty's face to know that he was wearing a resigned scowl.

"Right. Of course. That-that-that makes perfect sense, Rick. Thanks for the explanation. I really- I really appreciate it. It was just the-the mental image I needed to really get me into the zone."

"Hey, you were the one who asked."

In many ways, Morty was the perfect henchman. His low intelligence made him easy to manipulate while the stubborn streak he'd inherited from Beth had kept him alive through situations that Jerry never could have survived. He had no real friends to compete with Rick for his time and attention, and although he was growing wise to Rick's tricks, the part of him that cared enough to fight back against perceived injustice was gradually being eroded away into apathy.

Rick had taken almost everything from him. His time. His innocence. His illusion of security. Possibly even his very sanity. From the time he'd entered Morty's life, he'd used and abused his grandson in the name of every selfish whim imaginable.

Well, _almost_ every selfish whim.

Rick took a step back as the stall door swung open to reveal his blushing grandson, whose arms were crossed uncomfortably over his bare chest. He couldn't seem to meet Rick's gaze, opting instead to focus on the unoccupied urinals behind him.

It was times like these that Rick was glad he'd thought to invent boner-hiding underwear.

"This plan had better work, Rick," said Morty, looking eager to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"Of course the plan's going to work. I came up with it," said Rick, his voice not betraying even the faintest hint of guilt over forcing his underage grandson to walk through crowds of people in nothing but a pair of lacy black underpants. He pulled a check out of one of the inner pockets of his labcoat and handed it to Morty, who finally worked up the nerve to shoot him an annoyed glare.

"Where the hell am I supposed to put this?" demanded Morty.

"Well, you only have one hiding spot to choose from," said Rick, taking a pull from his flask as his eyes flickered down to Morty's crotch. "I'd walk slowly, if I were you. That's-that's not the sort of place where you want to get a papercut."

"Aww, geez…"

Rick wasn't quite sure when exactly it had started, nor what the trigger had been. It could have been anything; the incident with King Jellybean, his second breakup with Unity, any of the hundreds of times they'd been trapped together in close quarters... All he knew was that some point along the way, his irrational, platonic attachment to Morty had morphed into a warped lust.

It hadn't been until his most recent rut a few months back that it had finally dawned on him just how deep down the rabbit hole he really was. Ordinarily, he would simply schedule back-to-back appointments with a diverse string of prostitutes ranging from busty redheads to Lovecraftian abominations. That last time, however, he'd found himself overwhelmed by an insatiable desire for nothing but his own species. _Males_ of his own species. _Brunette_ males of his own species. _Young_ brunette males of his own species. Even then, it wasn't until about five or six fucks in that he finally put the pieces together, which of course prompted him to spend the rest of his rut too wasted to think about it.

All benders had to one day come to an end, however, be that through death or sobriety. Of course, Rick was almost _never_ 'sober,' exactly, but at some point even _he_ had to give his liver a brief respite from a lengthy blackout. The following days had left him in quite the pickle, no callback humor intended. On the one hand, Rick's shriveled conscience, which he usually had no problem pushing to the back of his mind, was screaming at him to keep his hands off of Morty by any means necessary, up to and including self-sterilization. On the other hand, the selfish part of him, so used to always getting its way, constantly peppered his head with reminders of how easy it would be to just take what he wanted and fix it later.

Rick was a man capable of bending reality to suit him. If he wanted, he could just wipe Morty's memory. Hell, he could warp his mind to suit his darkest desires; a little brain surgery was all it would take to convince Morty that he actually _wanted_ his own grandfather's knot. And heck, even if Rick didn't erase his memory or mess with his brain chemistry, what was Morty going to do about it? Beth would never believe him. Jerry might, but his opinion on the matter was irrelevant.

Sure, there was always the possibility of Morty going to the authorities, but even that could be easily circumvented if he played his cards right. Their universe had some of the most complicated rape laws on the books, and for good reason; the issue of consent could be incredibly muddled when mechanisms existed in their bodies that could essentially brainwash them into desiring sex with whoever it was they happened to be around. In an open area, it was easy enough to ignore the scent, given enough distance, but in a closed room? The intensity of a heat or a rut varied from person to person, but in general, one had about one or two minutes to exit the room before they became, as the doctors of their dimension put it, 'sexually intoxicated.' If he could just set things up to ensure that he was in the vicinity of Morty's heat, it would be easy to play it off as an accident. Those kinds of things were so common that there were defense attorneys dedicated entirely to such cases. And really, even if he _was_ somehow convicted, no prison on planet Earth could hope to hold him, and there was nowhere his grandson could run that he couldn't follow.

"What should I do if the door is locked?" asked Morty.

Rick reached into his pocket to retrieve a small, metal device shaped like a flat skull attached to a suction cup.

"Robotic skeleton key," he explained, placing it in Morty's hand. "Hide it under your tongue and stick it on whatever lock gets in your way."

"Huh," said Morty. "Neat."

As he turned around, the cheeks of his ass still exposed, it took every ounce of willpower Rick had not to cop a feel. With a resigned sigh and another swig of alcohol, Rick pulled off his labcoat and placed it over Morty's bare shoulders to cover him.

"Here, you don't actually have to get undressed until we get there, so…"

"Oh," said Morty, looking surprised. Without putting his arms in the sleeves, he pulled the front closed. Short as he was, the bottom dragged along the ground, but Rick had enough spare coats that a little dirt was hardly an issue. "Wow. Thanks, Rick."

It would have been so, _so_ easy to just take what he wanted.

"Yeah, don't get used to it," said Rick. "The-the-the last thing I need is for all my clothes to smell like a sweaty teenager."

Yes, it would definitely be easy for him to _do._ But would it be as easy to live with?

* * *

 

Morty supposed he ought to be grateful for the labcoat. And he was, really; it was something uncharacteristically sweet of his grandfather to do, if you ignored the fact that he was the reason Morty was in this predicament in the first place, something he'd grown accustomed to doing. Morty's only concern was that it was causing a lot more problems than it was solving.

More specifically, his habit of stealing Rick's labcoats away some nights had built up a rather unfortunate bodily association between their scent and masturbation, which was in turn creating some incredibly unwanted feelings down in the ol' groin.

It was for that reason that it was almost a relief when they finally reached their destination, forcing Morty to take off the labcoat and step out of the vehicle.

"Remember, Morty, just swap the checks and bounce. I'll wait for you out back."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," muttered Morty, keeping his face turned away to hide the redness of his cheeks. At times, there seemed to be no limit to what Rick could successfully goad him into doing. On some level, he liked to think he was doing this because billions of innocent lives were at stake. In reality, however, there was a part of him that _wanted_ Rick to see him in a thong, as though that would somehow convince his grandfather that his painfully average body was something he wanted to put his dick in.

It was difficult for Morty to imagine how Rick would react to finding out that his grandson wanted his knot. On the one hand, Rick was almost completely morally bankrupt. On the other hand, sex crimes were generally considered a special kind of evil, particularly those of the minor-diddling variety. It was with good reason, of course, and Morty knew damn well that he wasn't some special exception to human biology who could act with unclouded judgment about the whole 'wanting to seduce his own grandpa' thing. If anyone else had ever come to him with a similar plan, he'd have gotten some authority figure to intervene before they made a decision they would almost certainly regret down the line.

And yet, as Morty skillfully slipped past the bouncer by keeping out of sight behind one of the dozens of tumor-like bulges covering his body, he couldn't help but feel like he'd already engaged in such a lengthy list of regrettable and traumatic experiences that the act of having sex two years before the legal deadline paled in comparison. How many times had he nearly died? How many times had he been subject to torture and abuse that would make action movie heroes cry for their mothers? Hell, he'd been molested on at least _six_ separate occasions. The first three times had been appropriately horrifying, but at some point between smothering a baby to death with a pillow so its cries wouldn't give away their position and blowing up a planet to escape prosecution for accidentally inciting a genocide, he'd grown somewhat numb.

Most people might point to this as all the more reason to seek help, and those people were absolutely right. It was entirely possible that his infatuation with Rick was some kind of a twisted coping mechanism. Morty didn't give a shit. Maybe somewhere there was a professional capable of helping him deal with his issues. It didn't matter, because he no longer wanted to be fixed, and that in and of itself put him beyond all help.

"Geez," he muttered under his breath. Rick hadn't been kidding about the quality of the establishment. It was hard to tell with some aliens, but he was pretty sure a good chunk of them were on something, and those that weren't were clearly unenthused to be there. On most planets, it would have been violating several laws and health codes, but Rick had always preferred to avoid the kinds of businesses that would question him snorting lines of coke off tits.

In any case, the music was loud, the lights were low, and the patrons (and staff) were drunk, making it a relatively easy task to slip through unnoticed. That just left him with one problem, and that was actually finding the check.

For several long minutes, Morty squeezed his way past sweaty bodies in search of doors to back rooms. He found himself smacking away several stray hands, paws, and tentacles as he did so; fucked up as he was in the head, he still had his pride, and he wasn't just going to let a couple of strangers get off on his body without his say-so. He didn't know where their grubby little appendages had been, and he didn't _want_ to know. Admittedly, some of the touches were generating some unwanted sensations in his crotch, but that was easy enough to attribute to hormones.

At last, Morty managed to slip out of the chaos into what looked to be an office. From there, it was just a matter of rifling through drawers until he found a safe, staying careful not to set off any alarms in the process. He stuck the skeleton key onto it and prayed Rick's device would work on combination locks. An arm extended out of the device and latched onto the spinny bit to twist it around.

_Click!_ The safe swung open to reveal a few stacks of cash and checks. When Morty thought about it, he wasn't really sure why any space-age planet would still be using paper checks to begin with, but in the end, that wasn't his problem. He reached into his thong to pull out the replacement check Rick had given him.

"Shit!" he breathed. He knew he'd gotten a little aroused earlier, but surely not enough to coat it in a layer of precum! "Fuck me…"

Just as he was trying to find something to dry it off with, he heard a squelching noise outside the door. In a panic, Morty quickly swapped the bad check for the soggy one and slammed the safe shut before grabbing the skeleton key and shoving it into his mouth so fast that he accidentally swallowed it.

He had to find a place to hide. Under the desk would be suicide if they sat down, though. Maybe if he-

The door opened, and Morty froze like a deer in the headlights as a slimy, slug-like creature stared him down.

"Uh…" began Morty, already plotting the quickest escape route. The room was alarmingly devoid of windows. Was there any way he could talk his way out? "H-hi." Oh, he was so fucked.

The slug man looked surprisingly unsurprised.

"Oh, you must be Blezzborp Eezylay," said the slug man, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk. "You're thirty minutes earlier than I expected, but whatever, I'm not doing anything else right now. Take a seat."

He gestured to a chair on the other side of his desk. Morty shuffled awkwardly over to the seat.

"Uh, yeah," said Morty, relieved to have been handed a deus ex machina. It was so nice when difficult situations resolved themselves! "Okay. Thanks."

"Yeah, just give me a moment to make sure that all of my cash and checks are still exactly where I left them ten minutes ago. Such is the custom of my people, the slug people," said the slug man, prompting Morty to freeze once again. Damn it. He really should have known better than to count his chickens before they hatched. The slug man reached down to unlock the safe. "Oh, gross! This check is all sticky!"

"I, uh, I-"

"I knew I should have put gloves on before handling anything made of paper," said the slug man, shaking his head. "It's this stupid slug slime. It gets everywhere, man. Seriously, who even uses paper anymore? The sooner we all go digital – preferably to water-resistant electronics – the better."

"Uh, right," said Morty.

"Anyway, your interview…" said the slug man, shutting the safe and turning his attention back to Morty. "Well, you've already seen the place, and the very fact that you applied to work here means you're obviously desperate, so I'm going to get straight to the point. If you want a job, you've gotta give _me_ a job. By which I mean a blowjob. I want you to suck my dick." He thought for a moment. "And possibly my eye stalks, if we have time. Which we do. Because you're early."

Morty blanched. Well, at least it gave him an excuse to get out of this sooner. "Oh, uh, okay. I don't- I'm not, uh, super comfortable with that, so I think I'm just gonna go."

"Well, that's perfectly understandable," said the slug man as Morty stood up to leave. Before he could even begin to approach the door, however, the slug man whipped out a gun. Morty sighed. Of fucking course. "Unfortunately, now I have to kill you to keep you from reporting this to the police, so, uh, yeah. Awkward."

"Look, I-I-I'm not going to the police, okay? I just don't want to suck you off," said Morty, his eyes looking over the weapon. He'd faced down a LOT of gun barrels, but this wasn't one he could recognize. "Just let me go, and everyone wins."

"Yeah, see, that isn't a risk I'm willing to take," said the slug man.

Morty flinched as the slug man's finger pulled the trigger.

"Oww!" he yelped in response to the sensation of something striking his chest. Rather than a bullet, the gun appeared to have fired off a familiar white powder. "Wait, is this salt?"

"Why the hell aren't you screaming in pain?" said the salt man, clearly frustrated. Morty covered his eyes as he fired off another shot, sending little salt grains in every direction. "Die, already! DIE!"

"Jesus Christ, I don't have time for this," said Morty, putting down his hands and turning to exit the office. He just wanted to get back to the ship so he could go home. His stomach was beginning to flutter uncomfortably, possibly a delayed result of what they'd eaten for dinner last night; he should have known better than to eat that abomination Jerry dared call a meal. Morty shook his arm off in the slug man's direction, flinging enough salt at him to make him scream out as his flesh sizzled.

He stormed out of the office, leaving the slug man howling in agony behind him while he headed off in search of another door. The sound of his screaming seemed to echo throughout the entire building. At first, Morty was prepared to sprint to freedom, but nobody seemed to be reacting to it. Were they all really that apathetic about their jobs?

As luck would have it, however, one of the bouncers appeared to be in the process of dragging a particularly drunk patron outside. Morty didn't know what he must have done to get kicked out of a place that couldn't even be bothered to care that the owner was screaming in pain, and he didn't care. After a few minutes of waiting for the coast to clear, he made a beeline for the door and pushed his way through.

Morty had only half-expected his grandfather to actually be where he'd said he was going to be, so it was a welcome relief to see him rifling through the pockets of the ejected patron laying passed out on the ground.

"Did you- Is everything taken care of?" asked Rick without so much as looking up until he finally retrieved the man's wallet.

"I, umm, I-I-I might have killed the owner, but yeah, mostly."

Rick didn't sound concerned. Not that he ever did, but somehow he seemed particularly apathetic to this. "Oh, let me guess; you wouldn't suck him off, so he shot you with a salt gun, and you wrestled it away to shoot him instead?"

Morty frowned. That version sounded way more badass than storming out in a huff. "Uh, close enough."

"Yeah, he'll be fine; the guy's a complete masochist. That shit gets him off," said Rick, indicating that Morty should get into the car with a jerk of his head while he flipped through the passed out man's credit cards and identification.

"Wait, seriously?" said Morty, exasperated. He climbed into the car and slammed the door shut behind him. "Uhg, whatever, Rick. Let's just go home."

"Home?" said Rick, sounding surprised. "I thought you wanted to go back to school."

"Well, now my stomach is bothering me."

"Figures. I told you not to eat anything your dad cooks," said Rick, finally getting in and tossing the wallet into the backseat. "Heh, remember when he tried making grilled cheese?"

Morty pursed his lips.

_"What do you mean, 'you don't put the cheese on the grill by itself?' " cried Jerry._

_"Cheese melts, dad!" screamed Summer. "And WHY DID YOU PUT IT DIRECTLY ON THE STOVE?"_

_"THE PANS WERE ALL DIRTY, AND I DIDN'T WANT TO WASH THEM!"_

_"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"_

"Is it too late to erase that one?" murmured Morty.

* * *

 

Morty twisted and turned on his bed, but there was nothing he could do to get the unwanted sensation to go away. It wasn't painful, exactly, but the nagging discomfort hung over him like a fog. It felt a little bit like he'd forgotten something, or he was missing a piece of himself. It felt like a void had opened inside of him, but not in a sad way. It was just a peculiar sense of emptiness; loneliness without the accompanying misery. He wanted to be close to someone, not so much out of emotional need as-

He paused for a moment before Googling his symptoms, not at all worried about the potential for a cancer scare; there was no ailment on Earth that Rick couldn't fix, given enough motivation to do so. Still, Morty couldn't help but get the feeling that this was no sickness.

_Possible Causes,_ read the website. Among them were several psychological sicknesses like depression. At the top, however, was confirmation of his suspicions:

_Pre-Heat Syndrome (PHS)_

_Omegas in the days leading up into their heat may experience feelings of inexplicable longing for contact, in addition to excess genital discharge. Pheromones are not yet detectable by alphas in this stage._

Morty swallowed. Following that little blurb was a lengthy list of links to all sorts of recommendations about heat and rut preparations, most of which were fairly common sense, such as making sure not to be in a closed room with any alphas he didn't want to have sex with.  But what if he _did_ want to have sex with them?

_Alphas and omegas preparing to have sex during a rut or a heat should always make arrangements in advance. Remember that heats and ruts are not consent. Intentionally triggering another's heat or rut without explicit permission is still rape._

Well, shit.

* * *

 

Rick wasn't really doing anything difficult enough to require a high amount of attention, but that didn't mean he had to take kindly to Jerry bursting into the garage to interrupt his work.

"Rick!" said Jerry firmly, in that 'we need to talk' voice that had Rick almost reflexively rolling his eyes.

"Jerry, I-I-I know this kind of shit is lightyears beyond the peanut in your head that you call a brain, but I kind of need to focus, here. One wrong move with this device could blow up half the planet," lied Rick. In truth, the half-finished device in his hands was just a scanner to identify drugs and their purity levels with the ease of pushing a button. It wasn't super necessary, seeing as the means to do so already existed, but there was a reason remote controls had been invented even though televisions already had buttons on them.

"When are you _not_ making something that could blow up half the planet?" said Jerry flatly. Much as he hated Jerry, Rick couldn't actually deny the accuracy of that observation. "Look, I know I say 'no more adventures' every other week, and every time you find a way to get Beth on your side, but just this once, I need you to hear me out."

Rick sighed. "Well, it's- I can't exactly pick up all my equipment and leave right now, so fine, let's get this over with. What is it this time?"

"Look, it's just, Morty's sixteen now," said Jerry, daring to take a step closer. "A sixteen-year-old omega. Do you see what I'm trying to say?"

"Words are a form of sound, which itself is invisible to the naked eye, so no, I can't see a thing."

"Oh, for the love of-" said Jerry, rubbing his temples while Rick smirked. "His heat, Rick! Morty's first heat could come any day now, and I don't want him to be six dimensions away from home when it happens!"

"In case you've forgotten, Jerry, I have a fucking gun that can shoot portals," said Rick. "If Morty goes into heat while we're out, I can get him back here way before shit starts getting gross."

"I just don't want anyone taking advantage of him!" said Jerry. "Look, I wouldn't expect an alpha to understand, but the universe is a dangerous place for an omega, Rick!"

At last, Rick set down his device to turn around and face Jerry.

"I don't understand?" said Rick with a raised unibrow. "Alphas get ruts just like omegas get heats, Jerry. If anything, a-a-a beta like you is the one who doesn't understand. Honestly, another planet is probably the safest place he could possibly have a heat. On Earth, he's a fucking honeypot, but aliens don't get pulled in by human pheromones."

"And what about you?" said Jerry. "You're an alpha! You don't think you're, you know, a danger to him?"

"I'm his grandpa, dipshit," said Rick, making a point to shoot Jerry a disgusted look even as he lied through his teeth. "It's gonna take a lot more than a few chemicals to make me want to fuck Morty."

"Rick! Gross!"

"Hey, you were the one who brought it up," said Rick.

"Yeah, but you don't have to _say_ it like that!" grumbled Jerry.

Again, Rick sighed. "Jerry, get the fuck out of here."

"You haven't heard the last of this!" said Jerry, storming out and slamming the door shut behind him.

Much as Rick wanted to dismiss Jerry's ramblings as complete nonsense, the sad truth of it all was that, in this one instance, his concerns were well-founded. As Rick returned to work on his device, it was difficult to take his mind off of the conundrum he was currently facing. On the one hand, it was absolutely true that there were off-planet hotels far safer than anywhere on Earth could ever hope to be. On the other hand, while aliens might not find themselves tempted, Rick had to admit that he wasn't quite sure just how well he would be able to resist the object of his sick fantasies in such an isolated location. He'd already established that a consequence-free indulgence of this particular desire would be easy. He didn't need to make it any simpler. As far as temptations went, there were unlocked minivans, and then there were brand-new Porsches with the doors wide open and keys in the ignition.

What made this so different from anything else he'd done to Morty? As with everything involving human emotions, there wasn't really a logical explanation. He wished he could just explain it away as some deeply-engrained cultural taboo, but it wasn't as though taboos had been enough to stop all his other crimes. Alternatively, there was the fact that he was irrationally and unhealthily attached to his Morty as a sole confidant and emotional crutch (not that he would ever admit as much to anyone), but that wasn't sufficient, either. It was enough to explain his fear of Morty dying, but it certainly didn't stop him from treating his grandson like shit in all other aspects. No, there was simply nothing logical at all about his reluctance to fulfill this particular desire, a fact that made it all the more difficult to find any reason to resist.

Rick was unaccustomed to denying himself what he wanted, and he couldn't say he was fond of the feeling. Denial of self-gratification was the realm of posturing idiots trying to impress others with such arbitrary 'virtues' as chastity and sobriety, and Rick was no idiot. There was no God. There was no afterlife. No consequences would befall him for anything he did after he died, so what point was there in not just doing whatever he wanted while he still had the chance?

Why was he even bothering to keep on resisting? One way or another, he would eventually talk himself into doing it. Even if he didn't, he was bound to get blackout drunk one day and indulge himself anyway. It wasn't a choice, it was an inevitability. And if it was inevitable, there was no harm in making sure he was sober enough to remember it while it happened, right?

Rick stared down at his hands. When had they started shaking?

He swallowed, set down his tools, and began rifling through the shelves. It was probably just his age catching up to him. That was fine; he could fix that.

He could do whatever he wanted, after all.

* * *

 

Morty had done a lot of unforgivable things. A lot of it had been the fault of his grandfather, for sure, but there were also some things for which he had only himself to blame.

"Hey, Rick?" said Morty, poking his head into the garage.

"Morty?" said Rick, looking surprised as he turned around to face him. "What, is this a holiday, or something? Why- Aren't you usually in school right now?"

"I, uh, I guess I'm not really in the mood to deal with school today," said Morty, surprised by how easily the lie slipped past his lips. Perhaps that was more of an omission than a falsity; he truly didn't want to go to school that day. He had other plans. "I, uh, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to-to-to go on an adventure, or something."

For a moment, Rick simply stared at him, as though he were trying to determine whether or not he was, in fact, the real Morty, and not some alien changeling sent to replace him for nefarious purposes. He pressed a button beneath the desk, resulting in a scanner descending from the ceiling and giving Morty a thorough look-over before finally glowing purple and chiming in with:

_"Identity Confirmed: Mortimer Smith."_

At last, Rick grinned.

"Oh, hell yes!" said Rick, shoving aside whatever he was working on to grab his portal gun. "It's-it's about time you got your priorities straight! What about your sister? Is she coming?"

Morty shook his head.

"Whatever, more adventure for us," said Rick, popping a portal on the wall. "Let's go!"

Morty knew damn well that what he was doing was wrong. Rick was a manipulative asshole, but this was the sort of thing you just didn't do to people, even sociopathic old men. He could always blame the apathetic Sanchez genes etched into his DNA, but that was no excuse. This wasn't a matter of not understanding right from wrong. It wasn't even a matter of lacking empathy. This was a conscious decision to do something terrible. And why? Was it simple lust? A desire to feel some warped sense of power over his grandfather?

As Morty followed his grandfather through the portal, he puzzled over his own motivation. Was it love? Did he love Rick? Well, it seemed to go without saying that the answer was yes, given the sheer amount of shit he was willing to put up with in the name of their laughably unhealthy bond, but what kind of love was it? Was it romantic, or just familial? What, exactly, was the difference? Was romantic love just love with lust attached? Was he romantically interested in Rick? Or did he just crave his body for reasons even he couldn't fully explain? A craving to be dominated, to be _consumed_ by the man who'd already taken just about everything he had to give… But it also a craving to _control_ him. A craving to be the most important person to the most powerful person in the universe. There was a certain thrill factor to the idea, though the sheer arrogance of it didn't escape him. What was the saying, again? All good omegas wanted bad alphas?

Morty frowned. But then, he couldn't exactly consider himself 'good.' Not anymore. That train had long since left the station. He wasn't quite as selfish as Rick, but the fact of the matter was that his plan was straight-up rape. It seemed obvious in hindsight, but somehow, it hadn't been until he'd actually been told by some random website that this fact had actually become clear to him.

Guilt gnawed at his chest, but to no avail. He'd already made up his mind. For just one night, he was going to take exactly what he wanted, consequences be damned. He'd already tucked Rick's conveniently foldable memory-erasing gun away into his pocket. All that remained was to stay alone together.

Of course, this whole plan would fall completely apart if Rick didn't pick an adventure mundane enough to keep them out of danger for a few hours. For a moment, Morty wondered if he ought to use up one of his allotted Morty-adventures. Fortunately, his lucky stars seemed to be in alignment, for the location on the other side of the portal was far from the hellscape of danger that he'd feared.

"What is this?" said Morty, looking from side to side. Before them was a massive purple river surrounded by plants that wouldn't look out of place in a Dr. Seuss book.

"Get ready, Morty!" said Rick, shoving a bucket into Morty's hands. "There are some valuable leeches in this river, Morty! They're-they're-they're chock full of-of-of all sorts of useful sciencey goodness, Morty!"

"Leeches?" said Morty, already seeing where this was going. There was no way this was going to end without him being covered from head to toe in alien leeches. Still, it was a small price to pay for the end goal, and certainly no less than he deserved. "Oh geez."

* * *

 

When Morty had first expressed interest in an adventure during school hours, Rick had been convinced that he was some kind of strange Morty-replica, which would force him to engage in the tedious process of destroying the fake and hunting down the original; needless to say, it was far from his idea of a good time.

As soon as the scanner had come up purple, however, it had all become clear. In the sort of development that was almost enough to get Rick to believe in fate, that device had just alerted him to something important. To anyone else, it would look to be a simple identity scanner. Unknown to any but himself, however, was the device's secondary purpose. On most occasions, a positive scan would result in a green light. A purple light, however, indicated only one thing; pre-heat pheromones.

In the beginning, this secondary purpose had been built in for a very different reason, and that was being able to successfully _avoid_ omegas around the time of their heat. Rick wasn't the sort of person who cared enough about the so-called sanctity of his own body to care enough to regret unwanted sexual encounters; in fact, for anything short of a person being ugly enough that even the influence of drugs and alcohol couldn't get his dick hard, there weren't really any he would be inclined to refuse. In the garage, though? That was his _workshop._ The last thing he needed was to get distracted in the middle of something important.

Morty, however, he could make time for.

To Rick, it was obvious what was happening. Alphas and omegas always started craving attention from trusted sources prior to a heat or rut. It made sense from an evolutionary perspective, he supposed; it was hard for a species to pass on their genes by mating if they weren't actually around any prospective mates. Anyone who'd gone through it before would recognize it almost immediately as a sign that it was time to start cancelling their plans for the next week, but this would be Morty's first heat. He couldn't see the signs. As far as he was concerned, he just wanted to spend some time around someone he was comfortable with, and damn if it didn't give Rick a bit of an ego boost to think that that person was _him,_ of all people. Not some younger classmate. _Him. He_ was Morty's closest friend. _He_ was the person whose company Morty valued most.

Rick shook his head as he watched Morty wade through the shallowest point of the river in search of leeches. How sad was it that something so stupid made him feel so gleeful? What other people his age took such pride out of the idea that they were the most important person in the life of a person like Morty fucking Smith? Hell, what was he even doing out there, waiting with bated breath for his own grandson to go into heat?

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath as he pretended to work on the leech-juicer he'd finished three weeks ago just so Morty wouldn't question why he was the only one wading through infested waters. "What the fuck am I _doing?"_

He was doing what he wanted, of course. Just like he always did.

* * *

 

Three days.

Morty had spent _three days_ collecting leeches for Rick.

Initially, he'd been actively seeking them out, but it wasn't long before he realized all he had to do was stand around until they latched onto his flesh. The first few times he'd come out of the water covered in disgusting blood-suckers had been positively terrible, but as with everything else, it didn't take long for it to stop bothering him. It would all be worth it in the end, assuming the end ever came. As it was, he wasn't sure _what_ Rick planned to do with the fucking armada of leeches they'd assembled, but he wasn't about to question it. If they went home before his heat started, everything would be for naught.

The good news was that spending all day in the water made it easy to hide just how quickly he was soaking through his underwear. The bad news was that his body was taking its sweet-ass time on getting this whole thing moving. Everything was perfectly in place, to the point that, if Morty didn't know better, he'd almost think that Rick were in on this whole scheme. They were spending every night together in a high-tech, self-setting 'tent' that was more like a spacious metallic cabin chock full of soft, carpeted floors and, more importantly, beds that wouldn't be out of place in a fancy hotel.

Everything was perfectly in place. So why couldn't it just _happen_ already? With every passing minute of what was arguably their most tedious adventure yet, Morty couldn't help but spend more and more time questioning what he was doing. Not whether or not he _wanted_ it, of course; that much hadn't changed. He still yearned for Rick's knot just as much as ever. No, the problem was everything else. There were so many factors he hadn't fully thought through, not the least of which was the ethical dilemma (well, it wasn't so much a dilemma as it was a cut and dry matter of fact that he was doing something awful) that continued to latch onto his thoughts like the leeches were latching onto his flesh.

Even putting that aside, however, there was another little matter he hadn't quite thought through, and that was the lack of any form of birth control. In all his infinite wisdom, Morty had elected to bring along no condoms. If Rick didn't happen to have any on hand, there was a very real concern that he could wind up pregnant with his own aunt.

Morty shivered. That thought really shouldn't have been quite as big of a turn-on for him as it was. But then, his grandfather's naked body shouldn't have been a turn-on for him, either.

It would be fine, he decided. Morning after pills were still a thing. Rick would have a solution. Rick had a solution to everything. Then, once the consequences were dealt with, Morty would wipe Rick's memory, and it would be like they'd just spent the whole time doing nothing but collecting leeches.

So, _so_ many leeches.

* * *

 

Rick had no need this many leeches.

In fact, Rick had no need for even _half_ this many leeches. On any other day, forty to fifty would have _more_ than sufficed, leaving them free to move on to the next phase of the adventure in which they engaged in the ultra-scientific act of releasing them into the pools of wealthy bureaucrats for shits and giggles. But then, this hadn't really been about them from the beginning. It was one big stalling tactic; a shitty husk of an adventure during which Morty would _eventually_ go into heat.

The moment they entered the tent for the night, Morty collapsed on his bed.

"I-I-I think I might need another blood transfusion, Rick," groaned Morty.

"I just gave you a blood transfusion two hours ago, Morty."

"And I'm telling you that I need another one!"

Rick scowled, but nonetheless pulled out his handy bottle of Blood Transfusion in a Can. He jammed the needle unceremoniously into Morty's wrist and hit the switch.

"So, uh," began Morty. "How many leeches does that make?"

"Four hundred and twelve."

"Wow," said Morty, laughing nervously. "You, uh, you sure need a lot of them, huh, Rick?"

"Yep."

A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them.

"Hey, uh, Rick?"

Rick, who'd just pulled out his phone to browse the intergalactic internet, turned his gaze back to Morty. "Hm?"

"Have you ever been in love?"

Rick shot Morty a disbelieving look.

"You're kidding, right?" said Rick. Typical omegas, always getting so emotional just before a heat… "This is me you're talking to. _Rick."_

"Yeah, but have you?"

Rick wrinkled his nose and turned his gaze back to his phone. He didn't like where this conversation was headed. This wasn't comfortable emotional territory for him. "Fuck, Morty, what do you want from me? If you're looking for some spiel about your grandma, you can just ask your mother. I'm sure she'd love to tell you all about how _that_ one ended."

Morty sat up straight. "I'm-I'm not asking about grandma, Rick. I'm asking about _you._ Have _you_ ever been in love before?"

Rick groaned. Damn it. Why couldn't Morty just take a hint and drop it already? "Fuck if I know."

Morty stared down at his feet.

"I think I'm in love."

Rick pressed his fingers to his temples, somewhat bothered by just how much those five little words were affecting him. "Congratulations. Be sure to ask your mom about which lawyers to go to for the inevitable divorce. She's spent plenty of time vetting the best candidates."

"What do you do if you love someone you can't have?"

Rick gritted his teeth. Fucking _Jessica…_

"You really want my advice?" said Rick, setting down his phone to look Morty straight in the eyes.

Morty nodded.

"You do whatever it takes to get what you want," said Rick flatly. "Lie. Steal. Manipulate. None of it matters in the end. People will try to tell you that the universe is fair, and that some unseen force is going to dole out justice in the end, but that's just a lie they tell themselves so they don't have to face the reality of how terrible the universe really is. Life is pointless and arbitrary and _cruel,_ Morty, and it's all you can do to take what little happiness you can find before it finds some new way to shit all over you."

Morty swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"None of it matters," repeated Morty, whose gaze was focused intently on the floor. "What if it were you, though? Would you blame someone for taking what they wanted from you?"

Rick shrugged. "I still hang out with Gearhead, don't I?"

"And what about King Jellybean?" said Morty. "Wasn't he just trying to take what he wanted?"

Rick smiled wryly. "The only mistake he made was trying to take what he wanted from the wrong person."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, Rick wondered if perhaps, in his frustration, he'd gone too far.

"Yeah," said Morty, rising to his feet. "So…"

"So?"

"So you can't hate me for this," said Morty, striding forward and shoving Rick down against the bed.

By the time Rick noticed the hypnotic scent emanating from Morty's body, he was already too intoxicated to care anymore.

* * *

 

Nothing mattered.

That was the thought that Morty held onto as he locked his lips onto Rick's and kissed him for all he was worth. Morty had never liked the taste of alcohol, but in this moment, he found himself savoring every last drop of saliva they exchanged as their tongues rolled together in a slimy embrace.

Nothing mattered. Nothing mattered. Nothing mattered.

"Fuck me," breathed Morty into his grandfather's ear.

He straddled Rick and pressed his clothed groin to his grandfather's stomach, moaning with pleasure as he felt Rick's body shudder against his own. He'd known the effects of a heat were powerful, but he'd expected at least a _little_ resistance.

But then, he supposed he preferred it this way. At least like this, he could pretend that this longing was mutual. He could pretend that he wasn't the kind of sick, manipulative fuck who would manipulate their own grandfather into sex.

"Shit," breathed Rick, and for a moment, Morty was concerned that he'd snapped out of his trance. His fears were quickly put to rest; before he knew what was happening, Morty found himself flat on his back, his grandpa's teeth latched against his neck. "Didn't your mom ever teach you to say 'please?' "

On any other day, the mere mention of Morty's parents would be an almost immediate boner-killer. Right then, though? There was nothing Rick could have possibly said to ruin this. It was as though his entire mind had been completely overwritten by sheer desire.

_Needneedneed…_

_Wantwantwant…_

_Pleasefuckmepleasefuckmepleasepleaseplease…_

"You asked for this," said Rick in a strange tone of voice, not that Morty was coherent enough to notice anything off. "You _wanted_ this."

"Please," gasped Morty, whining with need as Rick palmed his erection through his jeans. _"Fuck!_ Rick, _please!_ I-I-I need it! I need it so bad!"

"Damn right," said Rick, yanking Morty into a sitting position so he could yank off his shirt and toss it to the floor. "Tell me how much you want it, baby. Tell grandpa what you want him to do to you."

The friction of his pants and underwear being removed was almost enough to bring him over the edge right then and there. "I-I-"

"Fucking _say it!"_ hissed Rick.

"I-I-I want your knot!" cried Morty, his back arching with need. "I want it so fucking bad, Rick, _please!"_

"Yeah," said Rick, pushing his legs apart with a level of force that served as a somewhat painful reminder of the cybernetic augmentations throughout his body. "Yeah, I bet you fucking do."

At multiple points in the midst of Rick grinding their crotches together, Morty's eyes threatened to roll upwards in sheer bliss. That, however, would cause him to miss out on the sight of Rick removing his clothing piece by piece, which was more than enough motivation to keep them focused. For as many times as he'd seen Rick's naked body in a non-sexual context, this was on a whole other level. Never before had he been naked between his legs, and never before had he seen him _hard._

Morty swallowed the lump in his throat as, for the briefest of moments, he wondered how in the hell that was ever going to fit inside of him. Only a moment, though, because his heat-addled brain very quickly decided that if he had to die, being ripped apart from the inside by a girth that large was entirely preferable to whatever terrible demise awaited him on one of Rick's adventures.

"F-fuck," said Morty. And to think, that wasn't even taking into account the _knot…_ "This is gonna hurt like a bitch."

"Only for a little bit, sweetie," said Rick in an uncharacteristically reassuring tone. Morty couldn't for the life of him think of a single time Rick had used the word 'sweetie' for anyone but his mom. "Take a deep breath. It'll feel better soon."

"Y-you're not gonna, you know, finger me first?" said Morty shakily as Rick lined himself up.

"You're in heat, sweetie," said Rick. There was that word again. If Morty's cheeks weren't already a furious red, he was sure they would glow even brighter. "Fingering isn't about stretching anything out. It's about how relaxed your muscles are, Morty, and this is as relaxed as it's physically possible for your body to get until we get going. A couple fingers won't make a difference. Besides…" He nuzzled Morty's neck. "You don't really want to wait any longer, do you?"

"N-not really," admitted Morty.

He held his breath as the head of Rick's cock breached his body.

"Don't hold it," said Rick. He reached down to stroke Morty's own throbbing erection. _"Breathe,_ sweetie. In and out."

"I-I'm trying," whimpered Morty, doing his best to take a big, shuddering breath as Rick's thick length continued to penetrate him inch by inch. "Fu-fuck!"

"Halfway there," said Rick. He continued to slide his hand up and down Morty's cock, his expert hands squeezing and stroking it in all the right ways. "Ssssssh, focus on the pleasure."

"H-heuh…"

It felt like he was being fucking impaled. He was going to break apart. The knot was going to kill him for sure.

And fuck if he didn't _love every second_ of it.

"Rick," he said, half-dazed. He could feel it pressed against his prostate, and it was driving him positively _insane._ "Oh, fuck, _Rick!"_

"Tell me when you're ready, Morty."

_"Now!"_ he answered immediately.

The first thrust was by far the worst of them. As Rick pulled out only to push back in, Morty's whole body tensed up in response to the pain, and he let loose a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. The second one was still painful, but not to quite the same degree. The third hurt even less, followed by the fourth, then the fifth…

By the time they got to the double digits, Morty was _gone._

"Fuuuuuuu…" was all he could manage. Just when he thought his brain couldn't get any more scrambled than it had from his heat, Rick went and proved him wrong. No longer did he have to wonder how his grandfather was able to get all those repeat lays with people who didn't even necessarily like him. Admittedly, Morty's only prior context was a vibrator he'd acquired from another dimension, but it was difficult to imagine anyone else being so fucking _good._ Every movement was pure bliss, hammering his prostate with the steady pace and perfect precision of a God-damned machine.

It was in that moment that Morty decided that, whatever terrible fate that might or might not have awaited him in the afterlife for all the terrible things he'd done, it would be worth it.

"Tell me what you want," growled Rick, hooking Morty's legs over his shoulders and reaching forward to squeeze and stroke his nipples. "Say it, Morty!"

"I-I want your knot!" pleaded Morty, throwing his head back against the pillow and squeezing the sheets in his fists. "Knot me! _Fertilize_ me! _O-oh!"_

He was so close. He was so, _so_ fucking close… The sound of the bed squeaking beneath them was music to his ears, as were the satisfying _thunks_ of the headboard repeatedly hitting the wall.

"Is that what you want?" teased Rick. "You-you-you want grandpa to cum inside you?"

_"Yes!_ Yesyesyesyes _yes!"_ he chanted. "Oh, please, Rick, grandpa, _alpha,_ please cum inside me! Pleasepleaseplease-"

"You're mine, Morty," said Rick. "I own you, understand? I _control_ you! You're fucking _mine!"_

"P-please, Rick, I'm so-so fucking close…"

Rick froze mid-thrust, prompting Morty to cry out in frustration.

_"Say it!"_

Morty, who was far past the point of being willing to sell his soul for an orgasm, was all too eager to oblige:

"I-I'm _yours,_ Rick!" said Morty. He hadn't previously thought it possible to be so overwhelmed by pleasure that he cried, but there he was, begging for more with tears streaming down his cheeks. "I'm _yours,_ I'm _yours,_ I'm _yours!_ You own me! You control me! I'll-I'll do whatever you say, so please, _please-_ _HRK!"_

With a few final thrusts, Morty's whole body seized up. Infertile seed spurted from his sex, and it wasn't long before he felt something hot and sticky shooting into him to indicate that he wasn't the only one to have cum. He whimpered uncomfortably as he felt the base expand.

"Sh-shit," was all Morty could manage. By the time the delirium of heat began to fade, Rick's knot was already firmly locked into place within him. In planning this out, he hadn't really thought about what would happen between the aftermath of sex and wiping Rick's memory of the event. There was no point in erasing it while his grandfather was still balls-deep inside of him. And furthermore… "Fuck, I'm- It's inside-"

He hadn't known what to expect from Rick. Anger? Disgust? Shock? Misery? It hardly mattered. He deserved all of it and more. Trembling with apprehension as well as aftershocks, Morty forced himself to make eye contact.

"Ssssssh," said Rick, much to Morty's surprise. "It's gonna be okay, Morty. Grandpa's gonna fix this. You're gonna be okay. Just-just- Hang on, I'll pull it out."

"What? Rick, no!" said Morty, wrapping his legs back around Rick's waist to hold him in place. "You'll just injure yourself!"

"That's not your problem."

Morty shook his head. It was hard to figure out which tears were from the sex and which were from the sudden, crushing wave of guilt he was feeling in the aftermath of it all. "I-I- _Shit,_ I'm so-so fucking- This is all my fault!"

"Don't say that," said Rick immediately. "It's- This isn't your fault, Morty. Don't you ever let anyone tell you it's your fault. It's-it's-it's my fault, Morty. This is grandpa's fault, and no one else's, understand?"

He couldn't believe it. Of all the reactions he'd expected Rick to have, _guilt_ was not one of them.

"It's not your fault!" said Morty, vigorously shaking his head. Damn it, damn it, damn it! _He_ was the monster, here, so why was he still the one crying? "I did this! I-"

"You didn't do any of this!" snapped Rick, only to shake his head and lower his voice. "I-I-I'm going to fix this. Don't you worry, Morty. It'll all be over soon."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Morty through tears. "I did all of this! I-"

_"You didn't do this!"_ said Rick again. "You weren't the one who-who-who deliberately took their pre-heat grandson out on a shitty adventure to the middle of nowhere to fuck them the second it started! You weren't the sick fuck who spent months lusting after a fucking high schooler!"

Morty's eyes grew as wide as saucers. "Wait, you-you _knew_ I was gonna go into heat?" There was no way… "You-you-you did this _on purpose?"_

"You're damn right I did!" said Rick. "So if you're going to hate anyone, you hate _me."_

Morty wanted to say something. He _needed_ to say something. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, however, something happened that left him completely speechless.

Rick's eyes screwed up, and he _cried._

"Gr-grandpa loves you, Morty," said Rick, his voice cracking past the point of being recognizable. He brushed a few stray hairs out of Morty's face. "Grandpa loves you so, _so_ much…"

"Rick," began Morty, at a loss for words. He had to say something. He HAD to. "Rick! It's- I- Rick, I _wanted_ this!"

"You're such a good kid, Morty," sniffled Rick in a voice so hollow and broken that it was almost difficult to believe it was the same person. He reached towards his labcoat with a shaking hand, and Morty didn't have to see which pocket it was going for to know that he was reaching for his flask. Desperate to get his grandfather's attention, Morty grabbed Rick by the wrist before he could get to it.

"Rick, _listen to me!"_ said Morty, wiping away his own tears. "And look me in the eyes, so you know I'm telling the truth!"

For the first time since they'd met, Rick did as he was told without a hint of snark.

"You- I-" Morty struggled to find the words. "You're not the only one who fucked up. I-I knew I was going into heat, Rick. That's why I wanted to go on this stupid adventure. That's why I didn't complain about the leeches. I wanted this. I wanted _you,_ and I didn't care about what I had to do to get here."He gestured to where his pants had been tossed to the floor. "Look, I even brought the memory gun! I-I-I was going to erase your memory, Rick! So-so yeah, what you did was fucked up, but so was what I did, okay? And-and I don't really know if that makes this better or worse, but that's the truth."

For one long moment, they stared at one another in tense, uncomfortable silence.

"Jesus…" murmured Rick. "I- Shit."

Morty chewed his lip.

"We're, uh, we're pretty fucked up, huh?" said Morty quietly with the faintest hint of a smile, desperate to inject even the tiniest hint of levity into the whole situation.

Rick didn't respond, and another period of silence passed.

"I don't want to forget this, Rick," said Morty at last.

"At least one of us has to remember," said Rick quietly. "So it doesn't happen again."

Morty reached up to touch Rick's cheek.

"Why not?" said Morty. "You wanted this too, didn't you? If we both want it, what's the problem?"

"What's the problem?" repeated Rick, batting Morty's hand away. "What _isn't_ the problem? I'm over seventy fucking years old, Morty. This-this wouldn't be okay even if you _weren't_ my grandson."

"And since when have you cared about what's okay?" he demanded. "When have you ever given a shit about my well-being? Why is it that, of all the places for you to draw a fucking line in the sand, it has to be the thing that _I_ want that makes _me_ happy? _Why,_ Rick?"

"I don't fucking know, okay?" barked Rick. "I just- I don't know."

Morty's hands fell to his side.

"I-I love you, Rick. God knows why, but I do," said Morty. "So if- No matter what happens, even if you erase my memory in my sleep or something, just please promise me you won't leave."

"Idiot," he said softly. "Where the fuck else am I supposed to go?"

"Promise me, Rick."

Rick took a deep breath.

"I promise."

* * *

 

Much to Morty's surprise, he did not, in fact, forget what happened the next morning. More importantly, Rick was still there, albeit passed out on top of a neutrino bomb. Morty reluctantly dragged himself out of bed despite his throbbing backside to haul Rick off to the side and get to work disarming it. The familiarity of the task was almost relaxing, serving as yet another reminder of just how thoroughly screwed up he and his grandfather truly were.

_Squish!_

"What the- Gross!" said Morty as he lifted his foot to see what he'd stepped in. He grimaced at the realization that dead leeches had been scattered across the floor. "For fuck's sake… I had to go through nine fucking blood transfusions for those stupid things. You-you could at least PRETEND it was for something important."

Unsurprisingly, Rick didn't respond. Once he was certain the bomb had been disarmed, Morty knelt by his side.

"Rick," he said softly. "Hey. Rick?"

Rick's only response was a zombie-like groan.

Once again, despite the pain from the previous night's events, Morty summoned up whatever strength he had left to lift Rick up and tuck him into bed while he cleaned up the dead leeches. As he stepped outside to dispose of the first couple handfuls, he couldn't help but notice something peculiar outside.

More specifically, the entire forest was on fire.

Morty pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh, please let this be an uninhabited planet…"

"Mmmmmaaaaaaaaah…"

"Rick?" said Morty, turning around. "You awake?"

"Mmmmoooooooooor…"

Morty hurried to his side. "I'm right here. How's your head?"

A groan.

"Do you want anything to drink?"

An affirmative groan.

"Water?"

A negative groan.

Morty sighed. "Your flask?"

An affirmative groan.

After a few minutes of pocket-rifling, Morty retrieved the item in question and gently pushed it into Rick's hands. After a long swig while still laying down on the bed (an act which resulted in him spilling much of it over the blankets), Rick finally sat up.

"So," began Morty. It was going to come up sooner or later, so it was best to ask the inevitable now. "How much of last night to you remember?"

"Too much," said Rick in a hoarse voice, only to take another pull. Morty swiped the flask from his hands, far from eager to see him blackout drunk again so soon. "And after all that, you're still here."

"Well, if I left, who'd be around to disarm your neutrino bombs?" teased Morty.

Rick took one look at the dismantled bomb sitting on the floor and collapsed back down against the pillows.

"I did something terrible, Morty."

"No one's disputing that," said Morty. "We both fucked up pretty badly."

"I hurt you."

"First of all, you didn't hurt me. That-that was consensual. Sort of," said Morty. "Second of all, just last week you cut off my hand because a weird collector offered you a hundred burblorbs for it."

Rick looked away. "I gave you an anesthetic."

"You _did_ give me an anesthetic," agreed Morty. "You know. As soon as you were done cutting my hand off."

"Yeah," said Rick. "I guess I did." He glanced longingly at his flask, then back to Morty. "One more?"

"Not a chance," said Morty. "Now if you're done wallowing in self-loathing, we need to get rid of all these dead leeches before we pack up the tent."

He turned around to go back to doing just that.

"How do you do it?" said Rick suddenly.

"Do what?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I mean," muttered Rick.

"Rick, I don't- I really have no idea what you're talking about."

"How the fuck do you go on like this?" said Rick at last. "How do you just keep living after everything I put you through? Why wouldn't you just kill me in my sleep? It's-it's not like you've had any shortage of opportunities, Morty."

Morty shrugged.

"Fuck if I know."

More silence. Morty hated the silence. It was enough to make him long for one of Rick's nihilistic tirades about how much everything he loved sucked.

"I love you," said Morty.

"Figures," said Rick. "You always were a total moron."

"Yeah, but I'm _your_ moron," snickered Morty. "You said so yourself last night."

The faintest hint of pink dusted Rick's cheeks. "Fuck you. And Morty, I swear, if you make some stupid joke about how I already fucked you-"

"Do you regret it?" said Morty.

Rick carefully wobbled out of bed. "Is that even in question at this point?"

"If you're so sure about the answer, it shouldn't be hard to give me a yes or a no," said Morty. "Do you regret it or not?"

Rick chuckled darkly.

"Fuck if I know."

"Yeah," said Morty. "That's what I figured."

"Morty, I- you know I don't really like bringing this up any more than the next guy, but I'm in my seventies. I've got one foot in the fucking grave, Morty," said Rick.

"Don't give me that bullshit, Rick," said Morty. "You and I both know that you don't plan on dying at all if you can help it. At the end of the day, the only thing standing between us is whether or not you actually want this."

His heart thudded steadily in his chest as he watched Rick think it over.

"I could say 'maybe' and pretend like I haven't already made up my mind, but you already know the answer to that, don't you?" said Rick. "I guess we're both past the point of no return. Why the hell not, right?" Morty smiled up at him. "I-I-I guess it isn't the worst thing I've ever done."

"Not even close," agreed Morty.

Rick ruffled his hair.

"If-if you tell anyone that I cried, I'll jettison you into space."

"My lips are sealed like a Ziploc bag."

"A Ziploc bag," repeated Rick. "Those aren't- They don't take any effort to open, you little shit."

Morty grinned. There was the Rick he knew and loved. "Maybe I'll- I might invest in more security in exchange for some ice cream."

"Straight to the blackmail," mused Rick. "First things first, though; we've gotta get you a morning after pill, unless you want to be giving birth to your mom's little sister."

"Oh, _shit,_ right" said Morty, clutching his stomach. He wasn't quite sure how that massive detail had somehow slipped his mind. "Yeah, I, uh, I don't really think I'm ready for parenthood just yet, Rick."

"The fuck do you mean, 'yet?' " said Rick, flipping a switch on the wall. Tiny, Roomba-like drones spilled out of the walls to clear up what remained of the dead leeches. He motioned for Morty to follow him outside so they could fold up the tent. "The- Woah, what the hell?"

Morty followed him outside.

"Oh yeah. I forgot to tell you, you-you-you kinda set the whole forest on fire while you were drunk."

Rick entered a key code into the outside of the tent, which immediately folded itself up into a tiny box.

"Yeah, I'm definitely not sticking around to fix this," he said, picking up the tent and popping a portal on the ground. "Let's go."

As Morty looked out upon the disaster they were leaving behind, it briefly occurred to him that, if he wanted, it wouldn't be impossible for him to nag Rick into putting out the blaze. It was a total mess, but it was a mess he had the power to fix, if he really wanted to.

But no. He didn't want it to be fixed, and that in and of itself put it beyond hope of repair. How could he? Yes, it was a mess, but it was _their_ mess. Their beautiful, broken mess.

"Yeah. Let's go."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to leave some constructive criticism in the comments; I'm always eager to improve.


End file.
